


Reversals

by ostensible_pith (something_pithy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, F/M, May/December Relationship, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6252550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/something_pithy/pseuds/ostensible_pith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn’t right – it was an utter reversal.  She was always the aggressor in matters of sex – at least once the game of coquetry and flirtation had been well-played.  And Remus Lupin was supposed to be gentle; a soft touch, despite his... “affliction.”  But that wasn’t how it had come together, for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reversals

**Author's Note:**

> In response to the lj community erotic_elves **Love Is Everywhere** challenge. Let me just say, when I first got my pairing choices, I was definitely picking the least of three evils - but I think that somehow, it worked out. 
> 
> In any event, it's my first bit of fanfic, and certainly my first bit of ficsmut. So if it sucks, it's not my fault - and if it's awesome, holler!
> 
> (also, I want to mention in this already overlong note that this challenge spawned about three thousand words of some kind of Pansyfic that has yet to be completed and may never be, because it was all story and no pr0nz! So I tried something else to be a better fit with the pr0nz requirements of EE.)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

**Warnings:** Naughty, naughty May-December ~~romance~~ ugly-bumpin'

The gasp Pansy Parkinson gave when rough fingers pressed against her just _there_ was rewarded with a wolfish smile. 

The last thing she would do was to think about how she got here, as her head was thrown back, pressed against the wall, fingers gripping the fabric of _his_ shirt as those long, strong fingers rubbed a hard rhythm against that bit of flesh, slick with her arousal. His knee was between her thighs, practically holding her up as she bucked her hips to the rhythm of his hand.

This wasn’t right – it was an utter reversal. She was always the aggressor in matters of sex – at least once the game of coquetry and flirtation had been well-played. And Remus Lupin was supposed to be gentle; a soft touch, despite his... “affliction.” But that wasn’t how it had come together, for them. In dark corners during the war, she provided information to the Order, and he’d received it. Pansy knew that there were those who’d look at it as Lupin exploiting a young ingénue... but then, those didn’t know Pansy Parkinson very well (or Lupin, for that matter. The bloody bastard had been nigh impossible to seduce at first, what with all his noble resistance.) There were also those who would think Pansy was slumming it to levels that might not be forgivable – but the war had changed things, and Pansy didn’t much give a damn about that. It wasn’t love, but it was something. Pansy preferred not to put a name to it. But as soon as that thought sparked over synapses, it was flooded out by another grind of his fingers, and then the pleasure as he plunged one, two into her, thrusting unrelentingly.

In an attempt to take some sort of control over the situation, she opened her eyes to look up into his face, trying to steady herself on her stilettos. But he just gave her that smile again.

”Oh, you are wet for me, aren’t you, love?” he asked in a low, ragged voice that betrayed how much he was affected by all this, by her. 

“I suppose so,” she managed to grind out, betrayed by the bite of her lip and the closing of her eyes as his fingers curved inward. “Oh, you are a _right_ bastard…”

With that, she pulled him closer to her, riding his hand hard now, bucking and grinding her hips faster as she caught his mouth in a kiss that invited all the ferocity he could give. He didn’t disappoint, his mouth slanting over hers as she slid her tongue slyly past his lips and against his, ever the coquette, even when being finger-fucked by her werewolf former Professor.

He was warmer to her now, sometimes in front of other people – and Pansy didn’t want that. She didn’t want him to dote on her or call her “sweetheart” or “pet” or “love,” even here, even now – though he was insistent here and now. His dominance in the bedroom (or in the hallway, or on the stairs, or, one time, in an abandoned Muggle car, of all places – bizarre!) shouldn’t have surprised her, but it had. For all his gentleness elsewhere, he was an animal, and Pansy, for one, appreciated it. She never wanted him to hold back – in fact, provoked his aggression and roughness often enough. Rather like tonight, when she’d deliberately worn this terrifically short skirt to a very small meeting of key Order members. Not that she was all that key, but this particular bit of information was too important to entrust to owls, and obviously Floos were out of the question.

Besides, Ron Weasley had been in attendance, which meant he’d be staring at her legs. Which meant that Remus would notice, endure it silently, then remind her whose she was at a more opportune moment.

How Pansy loved those moments.

Her knickers had long since been torn away, but his free hand was pushing that nearly scandalous skirt of hers right up her thigh, pulling her leg around his waist. With a grin against his mouth, she thrust her hips forward, grinding herself against him.

”Oh, you are an old pervert, aren’t you, _Professor_ ,” she cooed in his ear. This taunt earned her a grunt as he near slammed her into the wall even as she wrapped her other leg around his waist, rolling her hips against his. He could be sensitive about their age difference, and his former position as her professor at Hogwarts. But Pansy Parkinson’s Hogwarts days were long over, and she’d been with men older than her before. 

His hard length was pressed against her, though still bound by his trousers. Groping in her sleeve, she found her wand, and made quick work of the fastenings there. She shivered as she felt his heat pressed against her own, now rolling her hips in earnest, licking her lips at his groan.

”Fuck me,” she leaned forward, whispering in his ear, trying to press down the ache of need in her voice. “Fuck me, Remus.”

It was best this way. Even if it made him soft toward her. Even if... even if maybe it might have made her soft. She would never, ever admit it, but maybe there were times when she didn’t mind his attentiveness. The way he touched the small of her back when she came to Grimmauld, or the way he’d held her in the dark when her father had been killed and her mother had left. 

But they didn’t talk about those things. She would never talk about those things. Brutally, she pushed them out of her head even now as he lifted her against him, moving through the door they’d been next to, shutting it behind them. Before she knew it, they were on the bed and he was pressing into her slow, hard, then suddenly swooping his mouth down over hers again, his tongue thrusting against hers as his cock (oh god, what a cock, the most perfect one ever made, she was certain) thrust into her. He swallowed her resonant moan, sliding a hand under her shirt, hefting her breast in his hand as he thrust into her again, harder this time.

”There,” she gasped, her heels digging into his arse, pulling him in as deep as she could. “Oh, Merlin, there.”

And then it was harder, and faster, rougher. He was fucking her and it was glorious. But...

She pushed against him. Shoved hard at his chest, her face screwed up in something inscrutable, but unmistakably uncomfortable. And there was a moment of softness in his eyes – a moment of worry, and he let himself be pushed – expecting to be pushed off.

But she was pushing him over, her locked legs keeping them connected as she took the top with a triumphant grin. He might be bigger, stronger, and more feral, but Pansy would always be the more cunning of the two. She thought she might have heard a chuckle that melted into a groan as she clenched him inside her, and what grin still on her face, she began working her hips back and forth, bucking hard, gyrating as his hands slid up under her shirt again, palming her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers as his eyes closed.

Her eyes closed as well, then, riding him harder, matching his face from before as the heat coiled low in her belly, as low moans and incoherent commands like “fuck me,” “harder,” and “yesss” punctuated the snapping of their hips as he rose to meet her – and neither was sure who was saying what. Her moans got louder, and his hands moved down to her hips, pulling her down on him mercilessly, thrusting up into her as she threw her head back – close, closer – fuck he was good! – and then, he twisted his hips just _there_ and –

The cry she emitted was hard to interpret. It might have been a call to Merlin, it might have been a particularly foul oath, but her mouth could hardly be bothered to formulate the words properly as her mind and body came undone, her eyes rolling back in her head as every muscle tensed then released in that perfect, glorious climax, her muscles involuntarily clenching hard around him and drawing him to his. He came with a long, low growling groan of his own, his fingers gripping her hips tighter on that final thrust, and it was as he collapsed back into the bed that she fell onto him, her usually perfect bob clinging to her cheeks and brow as she gasped back to earth.

It was a little later (though her leg was still draped over his, her head still on his chest, his hand still stroking her hair) when he looked at her askance and said,

”Old pervert, am I?” 

Pansy hid her grin, then looked up at him in perfectly casual seriousness and replied,

”Well, of course you are. What else could you call a Professor who takes advantage of one of his poor, innocent students?”

He arched a brow at her for that, and lightly tweaked her nipple, earning himself a yelp and a pouty moue.

”Innocent, hmm?” he said. “I have my doubts about that, Ms. Parkinson.”

Pansy gave a little “hmph,” and pulled closer to him.

”Honestly, _Professor_ , what kind of girl do you think I am?”

At that, Lupin gave a low chuckle, his free hand sliding to her stomach, then dipping lower.

”Oh, Ms. Parkinson. I’m afraid I know just what kind of girl you are.” 

Pansy considered protesting for a moment, just for the principle of the thing. But then, his fingers went just _there_ , and she decided to herself that maybe he knew just what kind of girl she was, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, so I'm posting this in 2016, but I wrote this about eight years ago and have made no edits or revisions, because lazy. I make no apologies, and while I will say that I think my smut and writing games have improved a bit since then, I still stand behind this little bit of weirdness. I hope you liked it!


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